Dunsinane and Hereafter
by Equinox43
Summary: What happened after the story? How did Fleance become king? This story is a sequel to Macbeth.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: This is a story written to follow the conclusion of the 2015 Macbeth film. Hope you enjoy it. Please leave constructive criticism and tell us if you like the story. Sorry if we are slow between updates because there are are two of us writing the story together and we both go to separate schools. As usual, we don't own anything.**

Dunsinane and Hereafter

Chapter 1

The smoke drifted in through the windows of Dunsinane castle, making it difficult to see the edges of the chamber. Malcolm, the soon-to-be king of Scotland, stood in the center as he wiped his sword off with a rag. He tilted the blade, studying it in the torchlight. The blade flickered in the haze. The sword was similar to the one his father had once carried. It had the same slim build and perfectly shaped handle. Crafted for his hand and even in this the two blades were alike, for his father's hands had been very much like his own.

The door creaked and an armored silhouette appeared. "A report, Your Majesty."

Malcolm raised his eyebrows and waited.

"Macduff lives, barely."

"And my brother?"

"Prince Donalbain is returning from Ireland."

"Excellent." Malcolm sheathed his sword and made towards the door, the soldier falling in behind him.

The smoke was thicker outside, and lit up orange from the flaming Birnam Wood a several miles away. The battlements of Dunsinane castle were covered in soldiers, most with minor injuries but few dead. When Macduff, the Thane of Fife, had challenged and killed the tyrannical king Macbeth, most of Macbeth's soldiers had immediately disbanded. They had no loyalty to their former king, only fear of him. With so few guards, storming the castle had been easy.

In the fight, Macduff had been badly wounded. However, Malcolm was forced to leave him on the ground as he led the attack. He hoped the thane would forgive him.

Malcolm strode down the stairs and over towards the gate. " Abram!" he called to one of the senior English officers.

The man turned. "My lord?"

"Where is Macduff?"

"He is being taken inside. In what condition, I can't say."

"Thank you." Malcolm moved over to the gate and looked out. Emerging from the smoke he could see four figures struggling to carry a fifth between them. He ran out towards them. Malcolm's eyes widened as he saw the blood-soaked figure. Macduff's nose was horribly broken and blood seeped from a wounds in his side, chest, and arms. Despite the gruesome image, the king-to-be grabbed the thane's unwounded side. "We need a stretcher!" he bellowed to the guards by the door. They scurried inside and returned with one, which they held while the men placed Macduff on it.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Malcolm looked anxiously at the other men.

"Best leave him to the surgeons," replied one of the soldiers, an old toothless man. "And to God."

Malcolm nodded tensely. Although the two men had never been close, Macduff was a highly accomplished warrior and thane; the king needed his counsel in matters of both war and peace.

But nothing more was within his power. Instead he must turn to matters of the coronation.

Before the traitor Macbeth had murdered him, Malcolm's father, King Duncan, had named Malcolm Prince of Cumberland, making his eldest son the heir to the throne. But when Duncan was murdered, Malcolm had fled to England in fear for his own life. The respect Macbeth had earned through his prowess on the battlefield meant that he was given the throne. For, of course, nobody at that time knew the name of the murderer.

* * *

Malcolm had taken back the crown by force, allied with scottish thanes and the English king. He would now, as all Scottish kings did, go to the city of Scone to be crowned. Afterwards, he would travel to Forres castle, where the king lived.

Malcolm slammed the lid of his trunk closed after making sure everything was in place. His servants could have packed his trunk for him, but Malcolm wanted to make sure nothing was forgotten. After all, it was not everyday that you were crowned and it would not do to leave something behind.

Then on his chamber door someone knocked once, twice then silence. Malcolm started up, he had not been expecting anyone. "Enter," he called out, the grip on his sword pommel tight. Donalbain stepped in with a small smile on his face. "Donalbain" he cried out his tension vanishing, " how are you I was worried for I heard no word from you since we parted."Donalbain's face darkened a bit at reminder of their father's untimely death. "I am well the O Maolalaidh clan in Ireland let me stay with them. And how are you? The battle went well, I see."

"Yes, the battle was a victory," Malcolm said, "but I still do not know how I will be king the people might hate me and I might make taxes too high or…."

"Stop," Donalbain said sternly, "you will be fine and you will have advisors to help you." Donalbain made his way to the door and turned around. "I should be going now I am going to go help some soldiers look for Banquo's son." With that he pulled open the door with a little more force than necessary and shut it behind him with a click. Malcolm sighed. Donalbain had been close to Banquo and Malcolm had wanted to be the the one to break the news of his death to him, but obviously he had already heard. No matter, he thought to himself, What is done cannot be undone there was no use to try and figure out who told Donalbain, unaware he was repeating the same words that the former Queen had spoken only yesterday.

 **AN: Thanks for reading and remember to review.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

 **AN: Please leave constructive criticism and tell us if you like the story. We don't own anything.**

The trip to Scone had so far been uneventful. Other than the matter of what should be done with Macbeth's armies (the soldiers followed Malcolm to Forres, and conscripts were sent home), no decisions had to be made and no fighting was done. This was perfectly fine with Malcolm, who as he sat astride his horse was becoming increasingly anxious about the responsibilities of the crown. He was twenty-three years old; he had no experience in, for example, setting taxes or diplomacy. He knew that there would be advisers to help at every turn, but to constantly rely on them would not set the example of calm, confident leadership that Scotland sorely needed.

Macduff was better but still too injured to attend the coronation. He had delegated someone to look after Fife-his lands-while he recovered. There was not a lot to be managed, as Macbeth had sent out soldiers to kill every man, woman, and child living in Macduff's castle. This had included Macduff's wife and children, as well as any servants and townsfolk that could be found. However, the thane himself had escaped their fate because he had already fled to join Malcolm in England.

The search for Banquo's son Fleance had so far proved fruitless. Banquo was a commander, along with Macbeth, of King Duncan's army, and the two men were friends. However, Macbeth ordered assassins to kill both Banquo and Fleance as they rode through the forest near Forres one night. Banquo was killed, but Fleance's body was not found by search parties. There were reports by soldiers that he had been seen near Macbeth's body on the battlefield, but there had been no trace of him since.

"Finally!" Donalbain's voice jerked Malcolm out of his thoughts. He looked quizzically at his younger brother.

Donalbain pointed at the horizon. "We're there."

Malcolm squinted at the horizon. He thought he could make out the towers of a castle through the mist, but he wasn't sure. That was the problem with scottish weather, it was foggy all the time.

Malcolm cursed silently. He did not want to take up the responsibilities of the throne just yet. But he could not avoid the task; handing it to someone else would only cause further turmoil. Not that there weren't upsides to being king. In fact, it would be exhilarating.

The brothers rode down the hill, with the army strung out behind them. After seeing to it that their men were camped for the night, they headed to the castle where the lord greeted them with open arms. However, they were too exhausted by the three-day ride and the events of the previous day's to do more than thank him and head straight to their chambers.

The next day he donned his robes quickly, sparing a glance at the mirror as he walked out. Staring back at him was a young man with a round face surrounded by close-cropped dark brown hair and beard. He looked no older than sixteen.

During the coordination Malcolm looked into the crowd and for a moment he thought he saw three old women staring at him with the oddest look on his face.

The feast was the highlight of the day. It provided a welcome diversion from the business of trying to look regal, as even kings were allowed to gorge themselves at these events.

"Baldwin." he said to the man across from him, "Was there any word on Banquo's son?"

"Not that I heard," replied Baldwin, leaning across the table so he wouldn't have to shout over the noisy thanes. "But my warriors were handling the horses, so news would probably not have reached me."

"I hope he is found soon."

"Aye." Baldwin's attention was suddenly lost to the servants bringing out the next course.

 **AN: Sorry this chapter was so short. Please remember to review.**


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